


Storming Heaven

by frogfarm



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992), Dollhouse
Genre: Apocalypse, Bodyswap, Gen, Identity Swap, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Senior Partners and the Doll House want access to the visions. Cordelia's not having it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storming Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> post-"Not Fade Away"/post-"The Left Hand"; spoilers for "Epitaph One" + "Epitaph Two"

> _I will always find you._

 

"They said it was time for my treatment."

"And right they were." Topher's fingers dance the keyboard dance, his face bathed in the cool green glow of monitor radiation. "Have a seat, please."

"Will it hurt?"

"Huh?" He turns to find Kilo standing a few feet from the chair, regarding it with a dubious eye.

"Last time." The smallest current Active looks at him without guile. A light frown creases her unblemished features. "It hurt."

"That...wasn't a treatment. And I'm sorry." He files away an internal note. She shouldn't remember. Check that.

"This is just a plain old treatment." He pastes a smile on his pasty face. "Scout's honor."

Kilo returns his smile, and Topher turns back to the console. Attractive women had always been his greatest source of intimidation, and while he hasn't exactly grown jaded during his tenure at the Dollhouse, he likes to think he's gotten at least slightly more game. But ever since their return from D.C., a pretty girl's smile only makes him think of heartbreak and treachery.

The hum of machinery dies away. Kilo's eyes snap open, an unseen storm gathering within.

"What do you see?" Topher adjusts his glasses, squinting at the provided script. "What do you --"

Kilo rockets out of the chair with a scream, just as Adele walks in.

Then her head explodes.  


**

 

"Again?" Adele wearily regards her top research and development man. Their hasty and impromptu conference has been located out of necessity in Topher's sleeping quarters, a monument to the solitary and socially maladjusted.

Topher nods, looking equally exhausted. "We're gonna need another Lima."

"Out of the question," Adele snaps. "Regardless of how much we hope to recoup on our investment. The senior partners need _results_."

"I meant this _house_ is going to need another Lima." Topher swallows. "She liked orange cream sodas."

"The matter," Adele states with all the firmness she can muster, "is being attended to. In the meantime --"

"Look, I know I said I'd shut up and follow the program? But after looking over that last set of scans --"

"The visions _are_ real." Adele transfixes him with an iron glare. "And I _will_ have access to them."

Topher's disgust is beginning to show. "And how many dolls am I going to have to retire before you give up?"

In that moment, her decision is made. "Use Echo."

"But --"

"Forewarned is forearmed, Mister Brink."

 

**

 

She can't see anything, can see everything, and it hurts like old times. Stripped and invaded; used and discarded. Her love turned against itself.

Until through the darkness, comes a warrior.

"...Angel?"

" _Faith?_ " Her knight in shining armor. Only he could make confusion look this adorable.

"I'll pretend I don't understand that and get to the part where I tell you about the imprints --" Her teeth are threatening to start grinding again. She clutches his arm, reassuring and solid inside the black trenchcoat sleeve, muscles trembling as he grips the sword. "I got them all integrated, I can access them and survive the visions but it's so hard and they've read me backward and forward a hundred times they know you're coming, Angel, get out _now_ \--"  
  
The air sizzles.

 

**

 

"Multiple cattle prods." Angel tests his bonds, unsurprised when they fail to give.

"Forgive my enthusiasm." The man in the suit gives a warm and oily smile. "I couldn't take the risk of you leaving without hearing our offer."

"You stole the soul of a woman I love. Put her inside some helpless puppet who looks like someone else I -- care about." Angel's fingers give a suggestive twitch. "The only thing you can offer me is your throat before I tear it out."

The fake smile disappears, replaced with seeming honest curiosity. "Would that make you happy?"

Fresh horror seeps through. "You people have no idea what you're playing with --"

"We have every idea." A woman's, this new voice, strict and straight as a whip. "And the senior partners were most amenable to a mutually beneficial arrangement. I only ask you to consider the same."

"Like I said," Angel snarls. "You've got nothing I want."

"We can imprint you with yourself," the woman calmly declares. "Minus Angelus."  


**

 

Even before the powers saw fit to turn her into their plaything, it never used to hurt this much. A direct line and the pipe full open will burn out any normal mortal body faster than you can blink. And while this new vessel is a mighty one -- young, strong, containing multitudes -- Cordelia knows her time in it is destined to be brief.

She never knew how to touch type, but her fingers fly over the keys as if dancing on air. The light on the drive turns from red to green and she's running, leaping into the chair, scrabbling for the helmet before --

The vision hits.

 

**

 

"Of course, Captain Broodypants must suffer." Spike's all-knowing nod is spoiled by his petulant posture, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in the pockets of his duster. "No cheating. No shortcuts."

"You rightly scorned Angel for his collaboration with the Wolf, Ram and Hart." Illyria is a statue in the rain, watching the flames dance. "Accepting the Dollhouse's offer would only have damned him a second time."

"Never enough, innit?" Spike pulls out a crumpled cigarette, staring at it for a moment before tossing it into the fire.

"I thank you for my life." Adele stands stiffly even without high heels, cradling her broken arm in a makeshift sling.

"Don't mention it." Cordelia tosses back Echo's hair, giving her old employer a thin smile. "Ever."

"Guys." Angel motions from the overturned dumpster. "We need to move."

"You said it," Cordy affirms, taking a moment to reload. "This mob's not getting any prettier."

"Given any thought to where?" Spike shrugs. "Not that I don't enjoy a good directionless panic as much as any bloke."

"North." Cordy points to the skyline. "Out of the EMF pulse radius. We'll find somewhere you two can sleep during the day."

"Separate beds," Angel growls.  
  
Adele stares up at the smoke pouring from the blasted wreck of the Rossum tower. "I do hope he didn't suffer."

"He died to keep that imprint safe." But Cordelia sees the pain on the older woman's face, softens the Echo in her voice. "Some day, that hard drive might bring us back from another dark age. Until then, our job is to stay alive."

"Survival." Illyria turns away from the flames. "We will endure."

 

**  



End file.
